


Addictions

by Miriam_Heddy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriam_Heddy/pseuds/Miriam_Heddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An extension of the episode Brother's Keeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictions

Well, this is my first Sentinel slash story (NC-17). Standard Disclaimer applies: Pet Fly owns the boys and I am just borrowing them for a while, making no money from this venture, but getting a great deal of pleasure from it. Pet Fly really shouldn't mind what I do with them. All I can say is that I was provoked by the exceptional amount of on-screen touching in "Brother's Keeper." Feedback is greatly appreciated, as readers are why I got into this thing. Okay to archive. 

## Addictions

by Miriam  


It had started to get worse at the track. That was when he realized that it was getting out of control. The addiction wasn't to gambling, although that had been damn fun. He'd even wondered if being a Guide gave him some extra sense to pick strong fast horses, something that used to be a survival skill and had become vestigial, useless in the modern world except at the races. It had started when Simon asked him to lie to Jim, to lure him to the racetrack on the pretense of police business, and he had gone along with it, trying not to giggle as Jim struggled with his bowtie, finally giving up and getting into the truck with the black satin strip hanging off his neck, his cummerbund still unfastened. Blair had stopped him, demanded that he get out of the truck, then made Jim stand still while he put his arms around him, straightening the cummerbund, no cheap velcro, but hooks and eyes, as complicated as a corset. He almost leaned in to Jim, but kept a safe distance. And when it was on, the black band cutting into the white shirt only emphasized the perfection of Jim's body, the way his slim hips contrasted with his broad chest. Jim Ellison, Supercop. It was the easiest thing in the world to touch him and the hardest to resist. Then Jim leaned down, bringing his face close to Blair and tilting his chin up, an awkward gesture that gave the shorter man access to his bowtie. Blair had suddenly found the task took all his concentration and fixed his eyes on the black cloth, letting himself be hypnotised by the routine of knotting. There was already another knot in his stomach and his own bowtie must have been too tight, because when they got back in the truck again his breathing was restricted, shallow, and he had to close his eyes and meditate the whole way there just to even it out. Jim must have noticed, but he didn't say anything. He was probably preparing himself for the surveillance job, figuring Blair was just nervous about protecting the Mayor and his Sentinel. 

Then they were at the track and Blair had tracked down the first pretty woman, trying his best to make small talk, to flirt and make everything normal again. She was promising, but then she said that she was the president of a corporation and Blair saw the whole flirtation had been a failure. She wasn't interested in long-haired anthropologists, and that was okay, because Jim was calling him away, looking almost irritable about something... 

"Jim Ellison" the name rang out in the large room and Jim looked over at the kid, suddenly realizing it had all been a ruse to get him here. The Mayor didn't need protection. And it had worked, flawlessly. Blair had that innocent look down so well, Jim was actually beginning to think he was incapable of lying without giving himself away with that bouncy nervousness. But tonight his partner had been quiet, unusually calm, even his flirting with that woman was somehow less intense. But it had still bothered him, maybe more than it did normally, an irrational fear that Blair was maybe more serious in his pursuit because he was so not-Blair-like. And he had demanded that Blair come to stand with him, trying to think of an excuse to get him away from that woman and not finding one beyond the obvious. He is my Guide and he belongs at my side. He heard his name, walked toward the podium and saw that Blair had begun to rock on his heels again, looking victorious and so proud of his Sentinel, and maybe of himself for drawing him here, that Jim had only half-heartedly threatened to pay him back for this, secretly wondering if he ever could. 

And then later, when it had all started to fall apart, the ceiling quite literally coming down on their heads, more than the sky was falling. He was as well. And he had tuned everything out, trying to focus on the smell of gunpowder, still kicking himself over thinking that the sound he heard first was like Rice Crispies of all things, when it was far more deadly--the cracking of cement and paint, the shuddering of weak supports crumbling into a fine powder. And in the midst of trying to decide if he could make amends with his brother, for their childhood and for suspecting him of murder, he had been oddly comforted knowing that he had at least been right about that woman, and justified in trying to keep Sandburg away from her. That had probably been it all along. His Sentinel senses had probably picked something up, something inherently _wrong_ about her and he was just protecting Blair instinctively. That was what the Blessed part was all about. It was a gift and a responsibility that he knew he shouldn't question or doubt. 

He would protect Sandburg, even from his own friends if necessary. It was almost funny, the way Blair would automatically step into his shadow like he belonged there, hiding his whole body behind Jim's as Simon and his Cigar Club edged closer. And he had stepped away that time, exposing Blair, wanting Blair to get used to standing up for himself with the guys and feeling a little guilty because he knew he couldn't always be there for Blair and that Blair had to be more than somebody's shadow. The kid could take care of himself, but he was still a kid. That was even more obvious when they were celebrating, afterward, and he watched Blair, back in his tuxedo again, cigar clamped in his mouth and hair flying around his face. He was a beautiful boy in a man's costume, still a science nerd at heart, and Jim felt his throat suddenly closing with sadness and more guilt. If Blair was a boy, he was a wise boy, who had said the things that Jim needed to reconsider his brother, to get over his childhood and even to solve the case. Why was he trying so hard to convince himself that Blair was too young? And too young for what? For him? To be a Guide? He couldn't figure out how to reconcile that argument with his desire to trust Blair, to make him stand alone, to let him grow up. Sometimes he even thought it was a mistake to let Blair live in the loft with him. But then he remembered that it was he who was the dependent one. Blair did the cooking, the shopping, the Guiding, the taking care of, and even more important, he let Jim pretend to take care of him. It was all too confusing, feeling like a parent and like a lover and knowing he was neither, and all he wanted to do was get drunk, hang out with Stephen, and just _be_ with Blair as he celebrated his winnings.   
  


* * *

They partied till the early morning, Simon giving them the next day off for exceptional behaviour. Sometimes Jim wondered if he and Blair took advantage of Simon's good-nature. But Simon knew that the Sentinel thing took more out of him than just being an ordinary cop, and even Blair needed some time off from Guiding. By the time they got back to the loft, Jim's cummerbund was lopsided and his bowtie had come untied again. Blair was even more undone. His hair was a cloud of curls around his face and his jacket was a rumpled mess. He was rubbing at his eyes and Jim had to fight back the urge to tuck him into bed. Blair used the bathroom first and came out dressed only in his white boxers. Jim knew the tux was probably balled up on the floor. No matter how many times the laundry hamper had been pointed out to him, Blair seemed incapable of remembering to put his clothes away. But Jim wasn't up to nagging, not with Blair standing there, almost naked, fairly drunk, and looking like he didn't remember how to get to the bedroom. Jim suddenly wanted to stand behind Blair, steering him upstairs. Damn. And he couldn't even use the "I'm drunk too" excuse. He'd been the designated driver, even though it was his night to celebrate. Blair needed to cut loose even more and Jim had enjoyed seeing him get closer to the guys, drinking with them, telling dirty jokes, patting each other on the back about Stogie's coming through. 

Jim closed the door, shook his head, trying to clear it of the image of Blair, in his tux, in his boxers, doing anything. He pulled off his own clothing, brushed his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. Well, over his hair. The reflection in his mirror was just another reminder of who he was and he found it reassuring to go over it again. Jim Ellison, Sentinel. He did think of himself that way now, when it used to be just Jim Ellison, cop. A man who was never going to see 35 again. Whose hairline was moving farther back each year. Whose body was still pretty good for an almost old man, but it took more and more work to get it there. A man who most women found attractive, at least enough of the time to keep his ego intact. A man who found women attractive. A uniformly heterosexual man, Blair notwithstanding. The old man in the mirror was smiling and he could tell he was mocking him...heterosexual my ass, he said. Only if you define heterosexual pretty narrowly. Yeah, well, if fantasies counted, I'd be the Man of Steel, flying off to my Fortress of Solitude and bullets would just bounce right off me. That brought a chuckle and he started to feel better. Blair had once teasingly called him Supercop and Jim had glared at him menacingly but had actually been ridiculously pleased. 

He opened the bathroom door to find Blair still standing there looking confused. 

"Ah, Chief. Did you forget something in here?" Like putting your clothes away? But he didn't say it. Tonight was not a nagging night. And he was actually kind of glad to see him here, to get another chance to run his eyes over the man's furred chest, his eyes, as always, catching on the shiny metal looped through Blair's nipple. To wonder again how he could day after day repress the wanting and the not wanting to touch him. If he had this control over his other senses, he wouldn't need his Guide. No, he would still need him. And that was really the problem. 

"No, man. I just... I wanted to say..." He wasn't actually sure what he wanted to say, he just knew that he didn't want this night to end. He looked up into Jim's bright blue eyes and his legs were no longer able to support him, so he put a hand out to steady himself and felt his fingers brush against Jim's arm. 

Jim continued to lean against the doorway, trying to quell the trembling that followed Blair's touch and wondering if Blair was ever going to get to the point or if he would just continue to drive him to distraction. "You wanted to say... Goodnight maybe?" 

"Yeah, I guess that was it. Um, well, g'night Jim." 

Blair stumbled off to his room, still certain that there had been something else he wanted to say. But the only things that popped into his head were marked "Do not say aloud, ever" and he knew that he had marked those words off-limit for very good reasons, reasons he could understand and respect even through the haze of one too many vodka tonics. He finally pulled off the boxers too and sank into the bed, trying to ignore the pull of his body and finally glad that he was actually too tired to even want to jack-off tonight. He couldn't have done it anyway, not with Jim upstairs listening, always listening. 

"Goodnight Jim. You really deserved that award. And I'm glad everything worked out with Stephen. Tomorrow, I'll cook breakfast. Banana pancakes with maple syrup. How does that sound? But not too early. Well, um... goodnight." He said the words aloud, but softly. It had become a strange tradition in their house, that he would talk to Jim sometimes, right before he went to sleep, knowing that Jim could hear him, but could not answer without yelling. Despite the physical distance, he could almost pretend that Jim and he shared a bed, that he was whispering to the man lying next to him. And it was painful, too, because of all the times he had reached over and touched the pillow and wished that he could hear Jim's response. 

Jim was just settling in to bed when he heard the faint words, then he focused in on them, and on the sound of Blair's heartbeat, until it seemed that they were in the same room. Oh god. His Guide was offering breakfast. He didn't know why but it suddenly hurt way too much to be lying in bed alone. After months of denial, he was starting to realize that he didn't just want to talk to Blair, he wanted to sleep with him. No, even that was hiding behind more words, and he was never very good with words or hiding. He had no interest in sleep. He wanted to touch Blair, not as he did everyday, as a friend covertly enjoying the contact, turning up his sense of touch until he felt the almost painful scrape of skin against skin beneath Sandburg's clothing as he patted his partner's arm. He wanted to fuck him, actually. Long and hard, and the thought of that, the words appearing in his head, just on his lips for the first time, brought him sitting upright in bed with his heart pounding so loud he lost track of Blair for a moment, so focused inward on that one image of himself inside Blair that he couldn't even breath. It wasn't a zone out, it was worse. Zones were a sensory overload, but this was a lack, a total lack of all the sensory input he wanted, needed, and even his own hand on his cock was not going to be enough tonight. Oh god. Why was this happening now? But it wasn't new. He'd felt this way for months, maybe always. He could remember the first time he saw Blair Sandburg thinking that the kid was too pretty, too cute. Too young. And even then he had asked himself "Too young for what" and decided that it didn't matter. He was too young for everything. And then Blair had made it clear that he was good for so many things, making himself indispensable, actually, and now Jim knew that he was never going to get to sleep tonight without going down and seeing Blair. 

He wasn't going to do or say anything. He quietly opened the door, ignoring his conscience reminding him that this was an invasion of privacy. It was enough to stand in the doorway, watching his Guide sleep.   
  


* * *

It was already long past morning when Jim woke up. He thought of just laying in bed, trying to enjoy his day off by being lazy, but when he listened to the quiet sounds of the apartment--the little antique refrigerator's constant hum, which Blair wanted to replace with an freon-free model, except that they made an oddly annoying sound that he didn't think he could tolerate day after day, the air rushing through the vents, the large rain drops splashing against the sky- light--he could also hear Blair's even heartbeats that told him that his Guide was still fast asleep. Sandburg would wake up with a headache and would probably still make breakfast. But not if Jim made it first. 

The thought of Blair's surprise gave him the energy to get out of bed and go downstairs. By the time the kid woke up, there would be pancakes on the table and coffee and maybe even some sausage links, since he was cooking. Banana pancakes would have to wait until another day; They were Blair's specialty. On his way to the kitchen, Jim stopped at the bedroom door, still open as he'd left it last night. Sandburg was on his stomach, the blanket kicked off to the foot of the bed and his sheet was stretched across his thighs, one leg drawn up higher than the other. And he was no longer wearing his boxers. Jim closed his eyes reflexively, then opened them. There was no choice but to look, it was as if his eyes were auto-set on increasing magnification, focusing closer and closer until he could see the sheet creases that lined Blair's shoulders, each vertebrate counted out along his spine, the fine hairs that covered his skin, becoming denser as they sloped down between the soft cheeks of his ass. Jim tried to redirect his gaze and found that he couldn't, or didn't want to. Then his sense of smell took over and he let the air carry Blair's scent to him, the last traces of yesterday's shampoo almost overwhelmed by cigar smoke from the bars, the man's sweat strongly tinged with processed alcohol, and the particular smell that let him identify Sandburg in a crowded room. Smell and taste were so closely connected that he could vividly imagine how Blair would...but no. This time he really was about to zone out and stopped himself before he could imagine what his sense of taste might pick up. He was not going to go there, while he still had some measure of control. He closed the door softly behind him and went to the kitchen to make himself useful.   
  


* * *

Blair woke up as the door creaked shut and knew that the feeling of being watched that had penetrated his sleep was not his imagination. Jim had been standing in the doorway, watching him. He quickly pulled the sheet up around his hips and wondered why Jim hadn't woken him up. Then he remembered that they had the day off. Well, if Jim let him sleep, he certainly would. His eyes were still glued shut from sleep and drink and his tongue was best left forgotten. Another few hours of sleep couldn't hurt. 

He woke up again, this time for good, to the smell of baked goods. It was a warm, comforting smell that he associated with home and family, even though it had no connection to his own childhood. Naomi could _not_ cook. It was a cultural association probably formed from watching too many Duncan Hines commercials. Noticing that he was awake enough to analyze his own viewing habits, he decided it was time to get out of bed. He tried to ignore the heavy erection that was now a constant part of waking from dreams of Jim Ellison. He tried to remember what dream it had been this time, but could only recall fragments-- a candle's flame, the smell of burning wax, and Jim tied to the railing wearing nothing but oil. Fragments were usually better than a narrative anyway, since he could never come up with a plot that might reasonably end with Jim making love to him. It just didn't seem possible in this universe. He pulled on his flannel robe and padded out to the kitchen to see if Jim had put on any coffee. Normally he didn't drink the stuff, but you had to fight poison with poison, and the alcohol headache would only die down with either some more alcohol or a strong cup of coffee. And the idea of alcohol made his stomach do a little hang-over dance. The addiction hid in the back of his mind, reminding him that getting hooked on caffeine was the least of his problems. 

He was grateful that there was already a mug waiting for him and sat down, heavily, trying to open his eyes enough to see what a blurry Jim was doing. 

"Pancakes, Chief. And I managed not to burn most of them. Here, you can have the light ones." Jim brought the food to the table with a little flourish, then turned to the fridge to pour out some orange juice for both of them. 

"Thanks big guy. You really didn't have to do this. I said I was going to cook." Blair suddenly felt a little foolish, thinking that Jim might not have been listening to him talk to himself. "Uh, you did hear me, didn't you?" 

"Yeah, I heard you. Your pancakes are always better, but I thought you needed the sleep. It would be simpler if you could hear me too" --or if you were in my bedroom, but he couldn't say that. 

"That would be nice," Blair nodded as he cut into his pancakes, which were actually good, despite his stomach's minor protests. "But then we'd both need Guides. Hey, maybe we should set up a speaker system, you know, two cans and a piece of string?" He grinned at that, imagining Jim with a can to one ear. 

"Right, Chief. You work out the mechanics of that going up and down the stairs, and watch me trip on the cord every time I cross the room." He found himself smiling as well, wondering if Blair would take him seriously and try to hook up the contraption. 

The breakfast disappeared quickly, and he told Blair to take the first shower. As soon as Blair returned, looking damp, but more alive and with a renewed bounce in his step, Jim started on the dishes before he could volunteer. 

"Uh, hey. You don't have to do everything. I mean, I'm not injured, am I?" He made a show of checking for bruises and bullet holes, which were actually becoming common-place. 

"Nope, just a little hung-over. I _want_ to do everything today. You're always taking care of me, let me do the same for you. You don't have to be injured to expect that, do you?" He looked worried, wondering if maybe that _was_ what Blair thought of their relationship. It wouldn't be far from the truth. Well, he would have to change that. "You just relax, take it easy. And that means no police or school work, either. If it wasn't pouring outside, I'd say we could go out somewhere, but now I'm thinking we could just stay home and watch tv until our brains melt. Whaddya say to that?" 

"Sure." Blair sat on the sofa and started flipping through the tv guide, thankful that they had cable. The Sci-Fi channel alone contained more than enough to melt both their brains. They were even showing a movie specifically about that phenomena. 

"Okay. I'm taking a shower and expect to find you right there when I get back." 

"Yes sir, Captain." He offered a little salute and Jim grinned back at him.   
  


* * *

Jim returned wearing a faded flannel shirt and sweats. It was one of Blair's favorite outfits, making Jim look less imposing and more cuddly. Which is why his heart sank when he saw it. Twelve hours of sitting next to the man and not snuggling was going to be insufferable. Already, he felt a tremor inside when Jim's weight hit the springs and he stretched his arms across the back of the sofa. His fingers would touch Blair's hair if he stretched. And then he did stretch, gently rubbing a wet curl between his finger and thumb. 

"Sandburg, how long does it take for you to dry this?" 

"Why, am I dripping on the sofa?" 

"No, just curious. Why do you wear it so long? Mine's dry already." 

"Yours is so short I'm not sure it even gets wet. I like mine long. Everyone says it looks better long. Well, everyone that isn't on the Cascade police force, that is." 

"Oh." Jim sounded a little chastened. "Well, I've never seen it short, so I can't really say." 

"But you'd rather I cut it." It wasn't a question. He'd considered doing it, just to please Jim. But he knew that Jim wouldn't appreciate the gesture enough to make it worthwhile. And he really did think he looked better with long hair. 

Jim looked at Blair and tried to imagine him without those silly curls blowing in his face, springing along while he bobbed along beside Jim. No, he liked it long. But how to say that to Blair without sounding stupid. The kid wore his hair long because it was a magnet for the kind of women Sandburg desired. His best friends opinion was not going to matter. Fuck stupid. This was Blair and nothing he said was going to make a difference anyway. "Actually, I think it looks--nice. As it is. It looks like you." 

"Whoa. A compliment from James Ellison on my hair. Wish I had my tape recorder handy so I could play that back in the bullpen, loud. Maybe have it inscribed on a plaque you could keep on your desk. Or maybe give to Simon." The headache was gone, replaced with an odd giddy feeling. He started to giggle. It was probably the first time Jim had ever said something nice about the way he looked, and the horrible thing was, he wanted to read it as a sign of desire, but couldn't fool himself. The let-down of reality was just too hard. 

Jim looked over at him, trying to decide whether to laugh or glare. Glaring came more naturally, so he went with it. 

Blair tried to stop laughing and the attempt made things worse. A commercial for a shampoo "just for long hair" came on, the jingle inane and yet finely tuned to grab at the target audience, and he gasped for air, pointing at the screen as the giggling got worse. He was doubled up, almost choking and tears were running down his face. 

"Hey, Chief. You okay? Come on, slow down. Breath" Jim reached his arm over and began to pat and rub Blair's back, not sure if it would help. 

The warmth of Jim's hand calmed him down, the touch by now so familiar that it was instantly reassuring. He got control of the laughter, felt it slide a notch down into hiccups, then looked up to see Jim's brow furrowed with worry. "Sorry about that. I don't know what got into me. I don't think I've laughed like that in a long time. Maybe I'm still drunk from last night." 

Jim felt relief wash over him but was still concerned when he noticed that tears continued to run down Sandburg's now shyly smiling face. It was surreal, and he almost didn't want to call Blair's attention to it. "Uh, Blair, um. You look..." Jim brought a hand up to Blair's face, letting it hover there a moment, and then brushed his fingers across Blair's cheek until they were wet with tears. "You're crying." 

"Crying? No. I--" But he looked with confusion at Jim's hand, shining with his tears. Why was he still doing that. It wasn't funny anymore. "I don't know" his voice was hardly above a whisper, almost no sound getting past the narrow tunnel of his throat. He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stop, and then felt warm strong arms wrap around him. And now he definitely was crying, Jim's embrace acting like a trigger, and he could hear, as if from a distance, his own sobs echoing off Jim's damp flannel shoulder. He tried to pull away, but Jim's arms were holding him tightly. 

"Whatever it is, Chief, it's all right. It's okay." Jim had seen this kind of thing before. One of the guys at the station, someone who seemed to have everything under control would just snap one day and the others would ignore it when they walked past his desk and saw the tears running down the guy's face as he continued to type up his reports, acting like nothing was wrong. Police work was a high stress job and after a while burying your reaction to dead bodies and grieving relatives, some of the feelings would leak out. Men weren't supposed to cry, and normally it was easy enough to avoid. The urge just wasn't there the way it was for women. It was part of the military code that if it did happen, you didn't talk about it unless the other man wanted to. But this was his Guide and the rules and codes didn't apply, or he wouldn't be stroking Blair's back as he made little soothing sounds he couldn't remember ever using on Carolyn. Sandburg took on too much responsibility, and he did everything with such intensity, even partying, that Jim was not surprised it would get to him like this. He continued running his hand in circles on his Guide's back, extending his touch so that he could feel the muscles and bones under the layers of clothing, until he felt the small man relax against him. But he was reticent to let go, to pull away from the warm body in his arms. Then Blair pulled away, saving him. 

"Man, sorry about that. I didn't see that coming. I--thanks. I guess I'm kind of manic-depressive today. Sorry." 

"Stop saying you're sorry. Sometimes it's good to just--get it out into the open, you know? Like when you told me about stealing that microscope. You said that everyone stopped listening, but that doesn't mean that the urge to confess goes away. I mean, I'm here...listening." It was one of the most awkward speeches he'd ever made and he cursed himself for not being able to talk about feelings the way Blair could. 

"Man. Oh man." His heart was thumping way too fast now. Jim was listening. Jim was always listening. That was why it was wonderful and terrible to live here, with him, to work side by side, having dinners together, watching TV together. Jim was listening all the time and so Blair knew he was always filling in the silence by chattering on about anthropology, about Sentinel experiments, about anything just so long as he could avoid saying those words that couldn't be said. Jim would stop listening after he said them. Confession. In the Catholic Church, confession meant absolution, but he was sure there would be no absolution for him. They would be the last thing Jim ever let him say before kicking him out of the loft and sending him away. But this was his invitation to say them anyway. There would probably never be another chance as good as this one. He glanced over at Jim through the haze of curls that had fallen into his face, sticking to the tears. Jim was sitting perfectly still, his body language open and relaxed on the sofa, looking like he would be there, listening, until sometime into the next century. 

"Jim." He was going to say them. And then it would all be over, but at least Jim wouldn't be alone. He would still have his newly found brother. And his work. And besides, Jim was mostly better now, and he would keep on getting better at controlling his senses with practice. "Jim, I--Thank you for putting up with me for so long. I know I'm hard to live with. And I don't pick up after myself..." His voice trailed off, as if his body was making a last ditch attempt to silence him. 

Jim didn't respond. He could tell there was something else coming, something Blair was trying to work up to saying. He couldn't imagine what it could be. Maybe the kid was saying goodbye. Maybe he was going to move out. He felt a little panicky at the thought, but he'd always known this was only temporary. Blair was too young to make commitments. The thought was a revelation, answering so many of his fears with one judgement. He'd known right from the start that he was Blair Sandburg's pet project, and his partner, and even his friend. But there was a limit that they had never crossed. That two men who were friends could never cross. They hadn't ever brought up Blair paying rent again, not even when it looked like he was staying on for long enough to really move in. Because that would just bring up the contractual side to their relationship, and contracts had ends, and Jim didn't like to think about that. But now it was time. Blair was leaving him and he was going to have to face that and just be glad he'd managed to go this long without making an old fool of himself with some sentimental confession with the words "love" and "forever" in it. There was no such word as forever, and there never could be. 

Blair took a shaky breath, hoping that this would get easier, but each word seemed to be in a different language, and he had the surreal feeling that he would lose most of his intent stumbling through the translation of desire into speech. "I... can't go on... like this. You've been a really good... friend and I think...I think that we work well together--most of the time. But it's not enough--" 

His Guide, who normally didn't take a breath even between sentences, seemed intent on adding a ten-minute pause between words. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. "Look, Sandburg. It's okay. We both knew this wouldn't last forever. If you have enough for your dissertation... I understand that you want to leave and, while I'll miss you, I think that you should do what's best for your career." There, he'd said it. 

Leave? Jim thought he wanted to move out? Man, this was bad. Did Jim _want_ him to move out? Normally, he might have had his doubts, but Jim had made breakfast and done the dishes. He hadn't even nagged about the clothing scattered about the bathroom. It almost seemed as if he was trying to convince Blair to stay. So now he had two choices. He could either agree with Jim, say "Yes, you're right. I think it's time to get my own place," which would be easier than saying what he'd planned, but the punishment for his cowardice would be actually having to leave Jim. Or he could tell the truth. Lying did not come naturally, so it would have to be the painful truth. And in the end he would be moving out anyway, but with a clean conscience. He shook his head. It was hopeless either way and he cursed himself for making this happen now, when it could have happened next year, could have maybe been put off indefinitely. 

"Jim, I don't _want_ to leave. But I probably should. And not for the reason you think." He held up a hand, telling Jim to hold off and let him finish. Then he looked away, staring at the rain falling on the panes of glass above his head, trying to remember if those "never say aloud" words had ever been organized into a sentence before. "When two men live together they are not supposed to feel--or if they do, it means they aren't what they thought they were--at least not in our culture which firmly differentiates between feelings for friends and... Damn. This isn't coming out well. I'm not giving a goddamn anthro lecture. I just-- Ogod, I am just so very sorry, man." 

Jim tried to put the disjointed words together into some sort of meaning. What wasn't he supposed to feel? Oh god. Did Blair know? Stupid. Of course he knew. You were standing outside his door watching him sleep, and one of those times he woke up and you didn't notice, you were so busy trying not to touch him. Dammit. No, he probably saw you watching him cook some night, he could probably feel his clothes peeling off as you pretended you had X-ray vision. Either way, it was out now--Jim Ellison was "out" now, whatever that meant since he'd never actually done anything about it. And the kid wanted to move out because he knew. Well, it made sense. He could understand that. It wouldn't be fun to have to tiptoe around an elephant like that, not in their loft, anyway. Their loft. Not for long. That particular elephant was already crushing the life out of him and he knew that Blair was right, there was no place for this in their relationship, but it was there anyway. He leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hands, ashamed now to even look at Blair. "You're right, Chief. As usual. I thought I hid it better. I really wasn't--I mean, I would never _do_ anything about it. I know I touch you a lot, but I do that with everyone. It doesn't mean...okay, it probably means _something_. But I won't do it anymore if it makes you uncomfortable. This doesn't have to change anything. I don't want it to change." He got up and walked over to the balcony window and let out a sigh as the words finally came out, barely a whisper, but still loud enough for Blair to hear. "I don't want you to leave. You're too important, as a friend and as a Guide. That's enough, really--more than I deserve." 

Blair felt the room and his life suddenly spinning out of control. It was a rush hearing those words, echoed back at him when he could still feel the words, slightly altered and still unspoken, in his own throat. He got up on shaky legs and walked over to stand behind Jim. Jim didn't turn and Blair could see his reflection in the darkened glass as he approached. He wondered when it had gotten so dark out. It was as if the weather was inside him, matching his mood-swings. Jim's reflected face was a blank, a controlled iron mask, his strong jaw set stubbornly forward as if daring the rain to come in through the glass and wet him. The only other sign that he felt something was the way he held his arms crossed so tightly his knuckles were pale. He was probably bruising himself, doing that, and as always Blair was awed but not frightened by Jim's strength. He stood slightly off to the side so he could watch Jim's reflection and then he put his arms around Jim's waist, lacing his fingers across Jim's hard stomach and holding on tight to try to stop the free fall of his body through space. Part of him still didn't believe what Jim had said and expected him to push him away. All the blood had rushed out of his head and down to his cock and he couldn't even stop to worry about the way he now pressed into Jim's back. And still, he couldn't say the words. It was as if practicing not saying them had put some kind of lock on it that protected him now even when he didn't want protection. He could only hold on and hope that some of what he felt Jim could feel too. 

Then Jim turned around slowly, trying not to throw the smaller man off balance. Blair adjusted his grasp so that now he was burying his face into Jim's broad chest, his head tipped down so that all Jim could see was the top of his curly head. And even though they never stood quite like this before, so self-consciously, it familiar enough to be reassuring. He reached down and forced Blair to lift his chin and look up at him. A flash of lightening outside threw Blair's face into sharp relief. The tears that had been falling down his face had finally stopped and his eyes were red-rimmed, his face blotchy and streaked. But he was still so beautiful, so adorable, even cute. And Jim didn't feel surprise that he could think that about another man. He had even suspected that Blair occasionally dated men. And, illogical as it seemed now, Jim had right away decided it was irrelevant to their situation. Sandburg was bisexual, but Jim was straight, he had decided that was how it was going to be. And even if it wasn't, he'd already decided that Blair was a flirt and that was appropriate for his age. The kid wasn't looking for a relationship. But now it looked like maybe he was. How could he have gotten everything so wrong? He was horrible at communicating and he'd let Blair carry the responsibility for initiating talks and worrying about his feelings while he tried to pretend that he didn't have any. And he had taken Sandburg's constant flow of chatter as some sort of proof that he had no secrets. It had been stupid and selfish. But that could be corrected. He leaned in, eager to start fixing his mistakes, and gently pressed his lips against Blair's, his movements unsure and his hands trembling. I am kissing a man. I am kissing this man. And he is kissing me. The rain outside which had been coming down loud and constant now seemed quieter, soothing. He broke the kiss just as he could feel Blair's lips parting. 

Blair opened his eyes and knew that it was ridiculously sentimental, but Jim's kiss had set him loose, made him free, and he could say it now, without reservation or fear. "I love you, Jim Ellison. I love you. I love you." Each time he said it, the words tasted better, tasted like Jim's kiss and his own tears. Finally, he said it just because he could, not even caring that Jim wasn't really listening now, but was pulling at Blair's button-down shirt, whose button cuffs were now stuck on his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back. And again, he said a muffled I love you as the shirt was wrenched past his hands and his thermal shirt was now up and over his head, drawing his curls into the air. He would have said it once more, except that the air was knocked out of him as Jim leaned in and began to kiss him again, pulling him down to his knees as he struggled to unzip his jeans. The large hands were clumsy but dedicated and Blair was soon lying on the floor naked. Jim abruptly got up and walked away, giving Blair just enough time to panic and wonder if Jim had changed his mind. Then he was back with a blanket, which he spread under the two of them. 

Jim pulled his own clothes and underwear and pressed himself next to Blair, propping himself on one elbow so he could look at Blair a moment. It was so different to stare at his naked body when Blair's eyes were open and looking back at him. Before it had been like admiring a fine sculpture, a David in marble, and he could almost convince himself that his body's response was aesthetic and not sexual. But even then he had been hard pressed to explain how his erection fit into the category of art appreciation. Now he could admit to himself that it was true. He liked men's bodies. Liked the way they were shaped, the way they differed from women. It was even something about the way they smelled, something he never knew before he became a Sentinel. But he could have ignored them all if not for Blair. And it wasn't that Blair was beautiful that made him irresistible. He's seen the kid looking pretty terrible, in the middle of the flu, sweating out the Golden, hung-over after a night of partying. Blair was simply everything he wanted--his body was just the nicely shaped container for everything that made Jim's life correct, balanced, and sometimes excessively happy. 

"Why are you smiling like that?" 

"Like what?" 

"Like you just solved Fermat's Last Theorem." 

"Speak English, Darwin." The demand came out with a growl, not because he was irritated, but because Sandburg's incessant questions were breaking his concentration as he tried to figure out which of the kid's nipples he liked better. The ringed one was edging the other out, but they were both turning equally red and peaked from Jim's experiment. 

"You look like the cat who ate the canary, to use a boring, tired, cliche, _in English_." 

"Oh. I hadn't even thought of that, yet. Good idea, though." And Jim spun himself around so he could reach Blair's cock, taking it all into his mouth and sucking hard. 

Blair had hardly gotten over the loss of Jim's warm mouth on his nipples when Jim went down on him, sucking so hard that Blair wondered if his cock was leaking spinal fluid. The small of his back tingled as he stopped at the top of the arc, then whooshed downhill at ninety miles an hour. He came so hard and so quickly that he was a little embarrassed about it, hearing himself scream Jim's name, something he could never do before. But then he realized the ride wasn't over yet, as Jim rolled him onto his belly and climbed on top of his back, straddling low on his thighs, leaning forward and gripping his ass. The fire that consumed his nipples subsided to a burning that made the soft rub of the blanket erotic torture. 

Jim let his vision show him all of Blair. At first he'd found the extreme close-up views disconcerting during sex, but now he sighed as he traced with his fingers the sloping backside of his lover, noting the way his skin paled at his hips, the compact perfection of Blair's body that was more perfect because he could see it more perfectly. So close that Blair's body was a landscape of cells, a living canvas that he painted with the press of his fingers, leaving pink trails and wet impressions of his teeth, his nails tracing spidery lines across the bony protrusion of shoulder blade, the progression of bone and cartilage of Blair's backbone that nearly disappeared beneath the soft swells of his ass. But there was the nub of a tailbone, and he nipped gently at it, that small reminder that they were only slightly more evolved than other animals and this need he felt now was an animal need, triggered by Sandburg's release of phermones and the glide of skin against skin, a very ancient, very sacred ritual. He was nearly lost in the feel of soft skin rolling beneath his fingers, the swirling pattern of hair that had so captivated him the night before (was it only then? It seemed years ago) now following the pattern as it was nearly lost in the cleft of Blair's ass, gently parting him so he could continue his voyage to the center of Blair, that small opening that was alive like the rest of him and that reacted so strangely to his touch, opening and closing as if breathing, saying something. He leaned closer to it, placing his own lips over it. The intimacy of this act, which he had not even had the courage to imagine, now hit him full force, causing his balls to tighten, warning him that the voyage would probably be quick this time, as the full force of his desire was hitting him now, starting as a heat in his belly and moving down along his thighs, turning quickly into fear as he wondered if he could do this, to his friend, to his Guide. 

"Please, Jim. Please." Blair's voice was hoarse and hitching, breaking as he was into a thousand pieces on the blanket, all of them wanting Jim to put it all together, to add himself to Blair's body. 

"Are you sure? Are we going too fast?" He had only meant to kiss Blair, and not even that until a few moments ago. 

Blair remembered the feeling of Jim's hand on his chest, holding him down as they careened around corners in the truck, and the tenderness of that gesture, as if Jim thought that the seatbelt was nothing, that he alone could protect Blair from flying out of control. It was like this now--Jim putting his hand out, trying to protect him from his own recklessness. And not knowing that it was already too late, that he was already one with the safety glass, had already heard the sound like breaking ice as he crashed down to earth with his orgasm. He was along for the ride now and they were not nearly going fast enough. "Please Jim. It's okay. Just do it. Please." He was reduced to vague pleading now. 

Jim knew the mechanics of how to do this, but had sudden doubts about whether it was really possible. They were both men. Damn. He felt like he had the first time he slept with a girl, when he was suddenly faced with the bare minimum of understanding, the awkwardness and fear that came of wondering if he could invade that space and if he might not break off inside her, or worse yet, if he might not hurt her somehow. And he had, that night. There had been blood, lots of it, as he penetrated past her hymen and she had moaned with the pain of it. That feeling was magnified now, heightened, as this was Sandburg, who he had vowed to protect. He spread Blair's legs, folding the small man into himself, lifting his hips so that he could angle himself better, then tested with a finger. Blair was ready, relaxed, already open for him. Just to be sure he placed two more fingers in, gently pressing against the ring of muscle, stretching it and reaching in to try to find that spot he'd read about but never felt. Blair jumped at his touch, letting out a hiss of pleasure and he knew he'd found it, the gland whose position he now learned with his fingertips, remembering and mapping this new sensation as he would all the other places on Blair's body. 

Blair arched his hips higher, feeling the stress on his lower back that protested this odd position, ignoring that pain as he felt Jim finally enter his body. It had been a long time for him, and the burning pain was a surprise soon replaced by the different heat as Jim thrust into him, then stopped. "Now, Jim. Right--Now." 

Jim responded to the demand in Blair's voice, began to rock forward and back until he found a rhythm and with it, lost his ability to recognize anything but the heavenly tightness gripping his cock. It was better than he'd imagined, less physically strange as his body adapted, learning this new sensation, but still stranger because this was Blair that he was inside of, Blair's beautiful body that he was now part of, for a short time. It was too much, this vibrating of muscle and blood rushing that turned his Sentinel senses inward, so that he was now as aware of his own body to the exclusion of the outside. There was no outside. There was only the abrasion of his cockhead as it got more sensitive, the overwhelming need to push forward hard and then his breathing stopped for a moment--everything stopped as he felt his cock fill with semen, then let loose the stream of it in shocks that reverberated through his system. He knew this place was called Synesthesia, and that it was a dangerous place to be if you were a Sentinel. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears and he could taste it on his tongue, and he was overloading on the sound of his own ejaculation, like a waterfall, like a siren song he couldn't resist, like rain falling, hard and sweet until he saw the darkness of his eyelids replaced by bright lights, realizing he had opened his eyes right before he fell forward onto Blair's back and then there was nothing at all. 

Blair's orgasm took him over the arc again, but this time he felt it as an aftershock of the first climax, a more intense, more contracted pulsing that echoed deep inside him as he focused on the incredible thought that Jim was sharing his body with him, moving so deep in him and then he felt the first hit of Jim's semen shoot into him with a rush like a hit of heroin, making his heart beat faster and his body start to float toward the ceiling. He knew he was going to come down hard from this feeling but didn't care, as a second burst hit him, then another until he lost count of the pulses of Jim's orgasm, caught in the high of infinity, of Forever, of the illusion that Jim's body was a permanent extension of his own. The wind was knocked out of him as Jim's body fell heavily over his own and he felt the connection snap as Jim pulled out of him, leaving a wake of emptiness that was only partly eased by the heavy solidity of Jim's body pressing down on his back, immobilizing him. He lay there a few minutes, catching his breath as best he could with his diaphragm compressed under Jim's weight. "Jim. Jim. Hey, are you still with me?" 

Jim heard the faraway voice and pulled himself back into his body until could notice that he was crushing his small partner. He rolled off quickly, hoping that he hadn't hurt Blair and worrying because he had really zoned out that time, moving to a place where he couldn't begin to get back without Blair's help and then nearly hurting his Guide, his only way back. He sat up and pushed Blair onto his back, touching his face, checking his small ribs for breaks, listening to the steady even beat of Blair's heart. "Chief, did I hurt you? I--I think I lost it there. Is everything intact? I mean, was I too rough?" 

"Man, I don't even know where to begin." He sat up, slowly, still aching all over and not wanting to show Jim how tired and creaky he felt. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been warped at high speed, twisted and stretched. Parts of him had moved farther and faster than other parts and the ones just now catching up were hitting a wall of lactic acid, making his muscles ache. He felt used--in a good way. And the depression he thought he'd feel was not there. Instead he felt uncertain, knowing that they had done this without even talking it through first. They had made no promises and Blair worried that Jim might regret it, later when he remembered who he was. "Um, Jim?" 

"What is it, Chief?" 

"What are we going to do now?" 

Jim saw that Sandburg was okay, although pretty worn out and doing a poor job of hiding it. Youth obviously was not as flexible as he'd remembered and the floor, even with the blanket, had been hard. "Well, I think a bath sounds like a very good thing. But maybe a nap first, since I'm not as young as I used to be." His stomach grumbled and he looked at his watch. "Actually, maybe food would be a good thing too. Those pancakes seem like yesterday's breakfast." 

"That's not what I meant and you know it." 

"Oh. You mean with us. Well, Chief, I really don't know. I guess nothing, really." 

"You mean nothing happened?" 

"What?" He saw what Blair thought he meant. "No, something obviously happened. And you've got the bruises to prove it. Sorry about that. It's just that--I meant to say that I think that it didn't _just_ happen. I mean, I feel like it's been going on for a long time, like we've maybe been working up to it. Or I have, anyway." 

"So, like, you mean... No, I still don't get it. Sorry. You're going to have to speak s-l-o-w-l-y and spell it out for me." Blair was partly just being a pain, but mostly he needed Jim to say it out loud. He needed for there to be no doubt, no chance of misunderstanding. 

Right. This is Blair Sandburg here and everything needed to analyzed, talked out exactly when he didn't feel like talking about it. What was there to say now? Blair knew how he felt. That this was for keeps. He looked over at Blair, who looked so very young again that he felt a sudden flush of guilt. What if he'd been right and Blair couldn't make that kind of commitment. Could he let Blair continue seeing other people, not claiming him or expecting him to be here next month or next year? It wasn't even a question worth asking, as he knew he would do anything to keep Blair, in any capacity. "Okay. You want to know about the future. And I can't tell you about that. I can only say how I feel. And I feel...I feel like this is right. It was a lot of work pretending that I didn't want this, so I'm thinking this is going to be easier than it was yesterday. I want you, like this--no, not like this. I couldn't take it if it was like this all the time. But together with me. I think we can make this work. I mean, it already does work. Dammit, Chief, what I'm trying to say is that I love you now, and I did last month, hell, probably last year even. So I think I can safely say that I'll love you tomorrow." He cleared his throat, needing to say the word to seal this, to close off escape, discussion, denial. "Forever." It came out as a whisper, but he could tell Blair had heard it, as his heart was beating faster. 

"Forever?" 

Blair was looking at him with really big eyes and he felt a stirring in his cock and wondered when he would be able to look at him without wanting to fuck him silly. It was like being a teenager again, and that was dangerous, because at least one of them had to stay responsible and in control. He was going to have to relearn control or Blair Sandburg wasn't going to be in any shape for police work. "Yeah. Forever Sandburg. Now can we stop all this romantic shit before I pass out from hunger and start getting cranky?" 

"Yeah. Right. I'll go cook us something." Blair walked naked into the kitchen, not even bothering to find his clothes again. He was blown away by that word. Forever. It was more powerful than his orgasm. More earth-shaking. And Jim was able to say it and think about food. Man. But cooking would be good. Maybe it would give him a chance to process all of this. 

Jim headed off to the shower, pausing to watch Blair's beautiful ass head off to the kitchen. Damn. There'd be plenty of hot water left for Sandburg because he was going to take a very cold shower. When he got back, Sandburg had several pots on the stove and an apron wrapped around his bare body. It was all Jim could do to restrain himself from throwing Blair to the floor and taking him in the kitchen. Responsibility and Control. He'd tried to remind himself of those precepts as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide if he was the same person he was before. Jim Ellison, not so heterosexual anymore, but still the Sentinel. Still Blair's best friend. There had been no mocking reflection this time. Only truth. He recognized himself as changed. Happier. Blair's voice broke through his thoughts. 

"I've got everything going and it won't be ready for a few minutes. So if you could just watch the pots, I'll run and grab a quick shower. 'Kay?" Without waiting for an answer, he stripped off the apron and darted past Jim into the bathroom. 

"Yeah Sandburg." The kid was in a big hurry, but Jim didn't let it worry him. Blair was always running, so it was probably a good sign. 

When Blair returned, freshly scrubbed, dressed again, and feeling steadier, he sat Jim down and served lunch. They ate without talking, both of them happy to just be together, almost like normal, except that Blair kept peeking up from behind his hair to watch Jim eat, amazed that only a short time ago everything changed. Forever. It was not a bad word. He'd been thinking of it for a long time, trying to figure out how to make it happen. And now it had. He was tired and happy and realized that their plan to watch TV until their brains melted had been sidetracked. Something had melted, obviously, as he couldn't put two rub two words together without that third word bumping in. Forever. But he didn't have to think beyond the next few minutes, as there was a basketball game just starting and Jim had already gotten up and tuned in the game. They were obviously on the same wavelength. Blair cleared the dishes, happy to be back in the kitchen doing the chores. It made everything seem less like one of his fantasies. In his fantasies, he never ever did dishes. When he finished, he went to join Jim on the sofa and things got weird again, as he tried to figure out where to sit. Jim had sprawled his long legs out so that he was claiming most of the sofa space and Blair almost headed for the chair. But then he couldn't do it. "Uh, hey big guy. Can I have a few inches of that?" 

Jim smirked at his words, and Blair felt a blush creep up his cheeks as he heard his own double entendre. Damn. It was too weird. And Jim's purposefully rakish stare was adding to the sense of surreality. Jim just did not look like this, at anyone. But then Jim moved over a bit and he sat down next to him, letting himself lean against Jim's side as Jim brought his arm around and hugged him close. This didn't feel weird at all. In fact, it was warm and comfortable and he let himself snuggle up a bit against Jim's chest, gratified that Jim let him do this. 

They watched the game in comfortable silence, Jim getting up for beers and then finding his place again, next to Blair, who took his beer and then snuggled up against him again. The overwhelming eroticism that he worried he'd drown in had subsided somewhat and he enjoyed just feeling close to Sandburg. 

As the game wound down, the silence was broken by more questions. Blair was still Blair, and there was apparently no way of silencing him, short of fucking him senseless. Jim smiled to himself. At least he had a trump card, now. 

"How are we going to work this, I mean at work? Are you going to tell Simon? What about the rest of the guys?" 

"Sandburg. What do you think? No, never mind. I probably don't want to know. Of course I'll tell Simon. He's my friend and I really don't like the idea of him finding out by accident somehow. As for the rest... I don't think I'm ready to face that yet." He saw Blair's look of disappointment before he could mask it. "It's not that I'm ashamed, because I'm not. I just need to find a way to make this all work, and I think that maybe gradually, it might be better. Cops are cops and we, as you know, get anxious if we don't have a routine. And there's just no protocol for something like this, yet. No house rules. What about you and work?" 

Blair suddenly looked down at his lap. "Um, all my school friends know about us. I mean, they know how I feel about you. I, like, had to talk to someone, y'know? 

"Yeah. I know. It's okay, Chief. Just try to restrain yourself around the bullpen, if you can." 

"You mean no pda? None of this?" And he pulled Jim down into a long kiss. When he let him up for air, Jim concurred. 

"No pda. Not even a little bit of this." And he began to tear at Sandburg's clothes, the food and rest apparently having recharged his batteries enough to bring back the need again. 

Soon they were both naked, falling off the sofa as they grabbed for each other. Jim lifted Blair off his feet and nearly carried him up the stairs to his bed. They were going to do this on something soft, this time. He pushed Blair onto his back and suddenly realized another way he could take Sandburg. He grabbed hold of his head, trying not to be too rough, and covered Blair's mouth with his own, while his hands were free to draw small winding circles around Blair's nipples. 

Blair sighed into Jim's mouth, then remembered another question and pulled away. "Jim. I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything. But before anything else happens...I just want to understand. Man, this is weird. And maybe it's a little late to ask, but...I just always thought you were straight." 

Jim sighed heavily and rolled off Blair and onto his side, frustrated with Blair's endless questions. But it was a good one, and he deserved some kind of answer. "Well, Chief, so did I. But look at me now. Do I look straight?" 

Blair took in the man lying naked before him. He hadn't even made it to Jim's face because he got caught up in watching Jim's cock bobbing slightly against his belly. It was long and flushed red and looked painfully hard. He grinned, his confusion replaced by more giddiness. "Well, parts of you look kind of straight. But other parts, I'm not sure about. Maybe if I get out the level?" 

"Sandburg..." The name came out a threat, almost a growl and Blair's smile instantly went away, replaced by an expression Jim had never seen before. Blair's lips were wet and parted slightly, his eyes widened and his nostrils were flaring as he breathed. It was too much, seeing the want on Blair's face and he wanted to consume Blair, burn them both out with the fire he felt igniting in his belly and radiating outward. He grabbed at Blair's cock, squeezing just hard enough and pulling to make the smaller man scoot toward him. 

"What?" Blair's response came out as a squeak and he vowed not to talk anymore than he had to when naked. It seemed to provoke Jim, and while that was a good thing, he knew Jim was not much of a talker. The hand on his cock was making speech seem superfluous, maybe even dangerous. 

"Sandburg, I don't want to hear another unnecessary word from you for at least..." Jim looked at his watch, wondering what kind of estimate to give. "At least an hour." 

Blair just nodded. An hour. Man. What were they going to do for an hour? And would he still be able to talk after that? He mimed a zipper zipping shut across his lips, then bent down and kissed a slow path toward Jim's cock. Jim was right. Discussion was over-rated. And there were at least a dozen other ways to say I love you forever without making a sound.   
  


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